


No Socks on My Fireplace

by mustlovemustypages



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Unhappy Childhood, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustlovemustypages/pseuds/mustlovemustypages
Summary: Clarice isn't exactly Scrooge, but she really doesn't like Christmas. John wants to know why."What do you want me to say, John? No, I didn't have a childhood where we played nauseating music about mushy snow and reindeer. Or one where I believed in some old, bearded guy who breaks into my house in the middle of the night to leave me random stuff under a fake pine tree to open at the crack of dawn."





	No Socks on My Fireplace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voleuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!
> 
> I hope you really meant that Blink/Thunderbird 4EVA comment because this is complete and utter fluff focusing entirely on those two characters and nothing else.
> 
> Thanks ever so much to [lilacsigil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil) for the beta. You rock!

"Ugh, that music," Clarice groans, readjusting the knapsack on her shoulder and pushing open the glass door of the convenience store. There's a bit of a chill in the air and not for the first time that week wishes they were back in Georgia. Or at least someplace warmer than D.C. The underground struggles enough with supplies as it is without having to worry about heavy winter coats and boots for everyone.

John, walking beside her, glances back at the store then turns to her with a confused frown. "You mean the Christmas music?"

Clarice nods. "It's going to be stuck in my head all day now." She tucks her fingers up into the sleeves of her jacket and shivers. She could do with a pair of nice gloves right now but that would require money they just don't have. A small sigh escapes her lips.

"You really don't like 'Jingle Bells' that much?"

"No... I mean, _yes_ , I don't like Christmas at all, but I was just thinking about the weather. It's a little chilly, don't you think?"

In response, John transfers all of the bags he's carrying to one hand and wraps his free arm around Clarice's shoulders. The man is like a furnace. "That better?"

"I'd be annoyed if you weren't keeping me warm right now. But seriously, how are you never cold?" John's wearing a t-shirt and just the sight makes Clarice's teeth chatter.

"It's what, 50 degrees?"

Clarice rolls her eyes. "Try 30 degrees. We're a long way from Georgia." She slips one ice-cold hand under the edge of his shirt and places it against his bare skin.

John jumps at the contact and shoots her a startled look. Then he unwraps his arm from her shoulder, instead taking her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth to breathe hot air onto it. "You're freezing. Why didn't you say something before?"

Clarice shrugs and glances around before leading them across the empty street. Despite the weather, she kind of likes D.C. She knows they're not any safer here than in Atlanta, but putting that distance between them and all of the destruction that happened there makes her feel like a weight has been lifted from her chest.

They're only a block or two away from HQ now and Clarice is itching to tear open one of the granola bars in her sack. She skipped out on breakfast that morning and her stomach feels like it's eating a hole in itself.

When she can finally feel her fingertips again, John lowers their joined hands and interlocks their fingers. "Maybe we can see if we can get you a pair of gloves from-"

"Nah, I'm fine," Clarice cuts him off, even though she had been thinking the exact same thing only moments before. They have much more important things to buy with their limited funds than something frivolous like knit gloves.

The look John gives her let's her know he doesn't believe her in the slightest, but he drops it the subject. And then moves onto one even more uncomfortable for her to talk about. "So no Christmas, huh?"

For someone as withdrawn and closed off as John is when it comes to his personal life, he's constantly asking Clarice questions about her past.

"Foster parents didn't have enough money with so many kids."

There's a beat of silence and she knows he's waiting for her to elaborate. When she doesn't he asks, "You were a teenager when you went to live with them, right?"

She hums an affirmative but gives him no more than that. This isn't exactly a conversation she wants to be having with him and there's no way she's going to volunteer information.

"So what about before... with your parents?"

Even though she'd anticipated the question, it still hits her like a punch in the gut, the memories. She holds her breath for a second, letting the familiar pain pass by, then breathes out, a puff of white mist in the frigid air.

"My father loved Christmas," John says when she doesn't respond, and it's all she can do not to whip her head around to look over at him because John rarely talks about his past either. She nods but doesn't say anything, hoping he'll continue, and a moment later he does. "On the reservation Christmas was kind of a mix of Apache customs with the regular Christmas traditions that everyone else follows. There was always a huge meal with a lot of food and we usually got a few presents, but that wasn't really the focus."

"Which present was your favorite?"

John smirks over at her, eyes bright. "You first."

She opens her mouth to respond that she's never gotten a Christmas present, but then realizes that isn't exactly true. "Animorphs."

"A book?" John raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

"It's a good book!" she defends.

John grins. "I'm sure it is." The he shakes his head to himself like he can't believe his girlfriend is such a nerd. "Why's that your favorite?"

She can't tell him the truth- that it's the only one she's ever gotten. Because then she'll get the pity look and she hates being pitied. Her messed up childhood was over a long time ago and there's nothing productive now about dwelling on it. Still, she needs to give him some kind of answer so she settles on half the truth. "It was about children who were different. I don't know, I guess it just made me feel not as alone?"

Inwardly she cringes at her answer. It makes her sound almost as pathetic as the girl whose parents never celebrated Christmas.

But John must not think so, though, because he nods like her answer actually makes sense. "Who gave it to you? Your mom and dad?"

Clarice has to laugh at that. "Ha. No, my third grade teacher, Mrs. Fitz, did. She gave everyone a book that year. I read the thing all winter break, over and over again until..." She trails off, a forgotten memory coming to mind that she wish had stayed buried.

"Until...?" John prods.

Clarice yanks her hand out of his, done with this walk down memory lane. "I think it's your turn." Her words are stiff but she really doesn't care right now. She just wants to think about something else.

She's surprised when a second later they reach the door leading to the underground. John unlocks it and opens the door, gesturing for her to go first. He doesn't speak as they enter the darkness and he locks up behind them, and Clarice thinks that he isn't going to offer up anything else about his childhood. Then his voice breaks through the silence, surprising her. "A Walkman."

Clarice frowns as they start to move again. "A what?"

"A Walkman. That's the best gift I ever got." He must sense her confusion because he goes on to explain. "You know... the original version played cassette tapes and then they made a newer one things that played CDs? A Walkman."

She shrugs. "Didn't really listen to music growing up. Sorry."

He reaches for her hand in the dark, somehow finding it immediately, and brings their clasped hands to rest over his chest. "That may be the saddest thing I've ever heard in my entire life. My father was pretty against techy stuff, but I never wanted anything so bad in my life." Clarice can see a brief flash of white teeth in the dark as John grins. "I was so happy when I unwrapped that present I almost cried."

Clarice is still laughing when they emerge from the darkness moments later and are greeted by their fellow mutants, wanting to see their haul, and she's able to push aside all her unpleasant thoughts from before.

* * *

The topic of Christmas doesn't come up again for a few days but when it does, it's because one of the younger kids is asking Clarice to help them write a letter to Santa.

At their question she wrinkles her nose, thinking she's missing a joke somewhere. "Santa? Why on Earth would you be writing to him?" she asks with a laugh. The kid's face crumples at her words, like a kicked puppy dog, and she looks in no small amount of alarm for John.

Thankfully he's just a few feet away and has overheard the conversation, because he immediately jumps in. "I can help you with that, Katie. Do you have an envelope so we can write the North Pole's address and make sure it reaches him?" he asks, gently taking Clarice's shoulders and pushing her away with a not altogether unkind glare.

Rather than make a fool of herself over something she really doesn't even understand, Clarice leaves them to the letter writing and wanders around the compound for a few minutes. Eventually she decides to just head to the space John and her have been sharing and changes into a pair of sweatpants for bed. It's only a few minutes later that John comes in.

"Katie is working on the wish list she wants to put in the letter," John’s tone is neutral. Clarice's back is to the door, but she can feel his questions like a laser on her exposed shoulders. As John circles the bed, tugging off his shoes, Clarice pulls the thin blanket up to her neck and watches him silently.

"I didn't know," she tells him.

John lifts the blanket and slides into bed beside her, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. "Okay."

"I didn't write letters to Santa as a kid." He isn't pushing and she could probably leave it there, but for some reason she feels like he deserves more of an explanation. "There weren't presents under a tree from him on Christmas morning or any sort of sock hanging on my fireplace."

"It's called a stocking," John corrects her, and she can hear him fighting back a laugh."

Clarice huffs and shifts onto her back. "Whatever. Look, I'm sorry if I just ruined the girl's childhood or something. I didn't realize kids actually believed in Santa anymore."

"Katie is four years old and has probably already forgotten what you said. Don't worry about it." John doesn't say anything else for a long time and Clarice thinks maybe he has fallen asleep. But then he says, "So no Christmas music _and_ no Santa Clause?"

Clarice is tired and just wants to sleep, but since they're in the same room she can't exactly ignore him, so she shoves herself up in bed and leans back on her forearms, looking over at him. "What do you want me to say, John?" she whispers. "No, I didn't have a childhood where we played nauseating music about mushy snow and reindeer. Or one where I believed in some old, bearded guy who breaks into my house in the middle of the night to leave me random stuff under a fake pine tree to open at the crack of dawn."

She hadn't intended to get so worked up about it, but she's practically yelling now and her hands are clenched into fists, the itch of energy under skin fighting to be released.

"Hey, hey," John soothes, taking one of her fists and forcing it open. Gently he tugs her back down beside him so she's tucked into his side and he runs a hand up and down her arm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Feeling much calmer, Clarice barks out a soft laugh. "Yes, you did." She feels like simultaneously kissing and strangling him for pushing so much.

John stops his motions and rests his arm around her waist. "Yeah, okay, maybe a little. But just because I want to understand. I don't want to fight with you."

"I don't want to fight either," she mumbles. Tilting her head slightly, she sees his eyes on her. "Can we just leave it at 'my childhood was messed up and I don't have fond memories of Christmas?'" She can tell he wants to protest so she adds, "At least, can we just leave it there for now?"

John nods and closes his eyes. "Yeah, we can do that."

Clarice shifts so her head is resting at the center of John's chest and she buries her nose in the warmth radiating through his shirt. She closes her own eyes and moments later falls to sleep.

* * *

After her confession that night, John is surprisingly sensitive of her feelings towards Christmas. Not that she doesn't think he cared about her feelings on a regular basis before, but he's almost hyper aware now when anything to do with the holiday arises.

Take for example earlier that morning when one of the children asked Clarice to help put up Christmas decorations in the common areas. Not wanting a repeat of the Santa letter, and also because she wasn't completely heartless, Clarice had picked up a strand of lights and did her part without complaint.

But when John came in a minute later and saw what she was doing, soon the lights were in his hands and he was saying something about Caitlin Strucker needing her in the other room. Her smile must have not been as convincing as she'd thought because Caitlin had gone out on a supply scout earlier and wouldn't be back until that afternoon.

And then about a half hour ago some half brain decided it was a good idea to play the Twelve Days of Christmas on repeat through the sound system. Clarice and John were working on supper when the music started playing. After five repetitions, John leaves her and the half-filled pot of chili without a word, just a kiss to the side of her head.

A minute later the music stops mid "five golden rings" and switches to something much milder. It's still just as Christmassy, but it makes Clarice want to stab herself with the knife in her hand infinitely less. When John returns to the kitchen, he still doesn't say anything, just goes back to browning meat in the pan.

"You didn't have to do that you know."

John shrugs. "It was starting to annoy me a little bit, too. I can only hear about partridges and pear trees so many times." The meat done, he transfers it all into the pot and begins opening cans of beans.

Clarice doesn't really believe those words seeing as how they're coming from the man who'd she caught unconsciously humming along to the song more than once in the past half hour. So she just smirks and shakes her head. "Thank you."

No long after, she finishes chopping the onions and throws them into the pot with everything else. Then she turns and leans against the counter, folding her arms across her chest as she watches John work. Domesticity is a good look on him.

* * *

When the compound decides to have a Christmas Eve party and stay up late to watch some cheesy movie about elves and reindeer, Clarice immediately thinks up with several excuses to get out of it. And when the time comes for the cheer fest to begin, she's already in her room, tucked up in bed and rereading an old copy of Fahrenheit 451.

She's just gotten to the part where Montag steals the first book when the door creaks open and John pops his head inside. "Hey, how's the party going?" she asks.

"Good." He still doesn't move from the door so he must be just coming to check in on her. It still surprises her when John is constantly doing small, thoughtful things like that.

"Well, have fun," she tells him, then goes back to reading her book.

John doesn't leave as she expects though, and instead walks around the bed and stands there. When she glances at him again, his hands are behind his back and he's looking uncomfortable.

"You okay?" she asks, frowning at his strange behavior.

He doesn't speak for a moment and Clarice's worry intensifies, thinking something must be really wrong. Then he speaks. "So..." he draws out, bringing out a small black bag from behind his back and placing it on the bed cautiously. "I know how you feel about Christmas, but I got you something anyway and I hope you're not mad."

Clarice doesn't know how to respond initially as she stares down at the bag, her mouth opening and closing several times with no words coming out.

John grimaces, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck, clearly feeling awkward. "Shoot, I'm sorry. I kept telling myself it was a bad idea but..." he waves a hand in the air in obvious distress. Just as he goes to take the bag back though, Clarice starts functioning again and she swats his hand away.

"Hey, I'm never one to pass up a free gift," she manages to get out around the frog in her throat, and it's only half as light-hearted sounding as she'd intended. The truth is that there's this tight feeling in her chest and she realizes with a kind of detached shock that she's a second away from crying.

Seeing now that she's not about to send him spinning through a portal because of the gift, John climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged so he's facing her. His face is an odd mixture of amusement and anxiety. "And technically it's not even the 25th yet," he tells her.

Clarice puts her book to the side and picks the bag up. "Does that mean I have to wait until tomorrow to open it?"

"No, I just meant that since today's technically not Christmas we don't even have to call it a Christmas gift."

As she goes to peer inside the bag, Clarice rolls her eyes. "Of course it's a Christmas gift, John, don't try to play it off like it's not..." She trails off when she sees what he's given her. Slowly, she pulls out something wrapped in white paper that is most definitely a book. She doesn't open it yet, though, reaching for the second item in the bag that hasn't been wrapped up.

It's a pair of gloves.

"They're not new or anything," John tells her in a rush, "But they should keep your hands warm this winter."

"Are you saying you don't want to be my personal furnace anymore?" Clarice teases as she slips one on. They're a navy blue and have the fingertips cut off.

"I figured you could still make portals with them on since some of your skin is exposed. We can test them later if you-" John cuts himself off as a small bundle of bright, purple light forms between Clarice's hands. "Or you could just do it now."

Clarice shoots him an ecstatic smile. "I love them!" With less hesitation now she rips into the paper-covered book. Then when she sees the cover her smile drops in an instant and her eyes go wide.

Again, John must feel the need to explain so she doesn't get the wrong idea. "I'm sure it's not the same one you had as a kid, but there's a lot out there, you know? Dozens actually."

Clarice flips the book over to scan the back, still in shock. "You... you bought me an Animorphs book?" she whispers, holding back a sob.

“Found it at a thrift store, yeah. And I know it's for kids, but I figured since it was the best Christmas gift you’ve gotten, maybe it would make this Christmas not so bad, too." He's sort of rambling now and it's so adorable, Clarice puts the book aside and launches herself at him.

Her arms wrap around his neck and their lips meet in a firm kiss. When she pulls back, Clarice is smiling again eyes shining with unshed tears. "John, shut up."

When she kisses a second time, it's John who pulls away first, reaching a hand up to wipe away the tears staining her cheeks. "Does that mean you like your gifts?"

In response, Clarice nods, placing her forehead against his. "Best Christmas ever."

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Fingers crossed for some really great Thunderblink content in the new year from canon*


End file.
